


Behind Closed Doors

by Lady_in_Red



Series: Pitchers and Catchers [2]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, F/M, First Time, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: The night they agreed should never be repeated just keeps happening.Continuation of "Lie with me and just forget the world."





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> So I was working on "Open your eyes," which follows on from "Lie with me and just forget the world." I swear. But this little flashback in the middle kept growing until I realized it needed to stand on its own. Thus a two-part fic became three.
> 
> Title and lyrics included are from "Secret Love Song, Part 2" by Little Mix.

Between Atlanta’s sweltering heat and the press of bodies inside the club, Ginny's silky top is sticking to her back and the tops of her breasts, and her thighs are sticking together under the swingy little wrap skirt Evelyn convinced her to buy last week. A drop of sweat makes its way down her spine, and she’d like to blame the ceiling fans pushing the humidity around this club for her discomfort, but that’s only half of the problem.

He's staring. Again. 

Ginny eagerly takes the beer Sonny passes to her, condensation making the bottle slippery in her hand, and sucks down half of the ice-cold beer before she puts it down. She just wants to drink her beer without feeling his eyes on her. Wants to lose herself in the music and dance, but the DJ seems intent on torturing her. 

_ “You and I both have to hide on the outside, where I can't be yours and you can't be mine.” _

She can’t help looking at him then, but his eyes cut away after a single, blazing second. It’s still enough to make her breath catch. Ginny once thought that Peoria was torture, that things would be better when they got back to San Diego and Mike wasn’t right down the hall every night. It didn’t. 

San Diego was worse. Day after day together, going home to her condo alone each night. In San Diego they’re too recognizable, with too much risk of being photographed late at night where they shouldn’t be. On the road sometimes they can slip away for an hour or two without anyone noticing. Rarely a whole night, waking before dawn so Mike can sneak back to his room without the guys knowing where he slept.

After she finds herself singing Ariana Grande's "Dangerous Woman" under her breath while she sways a little sitting in their booth, Ginny gives up. She turns to her teammates, asks, “Who's going to dance with me?”

She can't just go out on the dance floor. It sucks, but her teammates don't try to grab her ass or grind on her. She can't say that about most of the men in these places. She is so tired of seeing herself on TMZ or random websites with a random guy’s hand on her ass and a caption speculating just how much she indulges in the pleasures found on the road. If they knew the real story, the press would crucify her. 

She lets her eyes drift over each face, lingering only a second longer on Mike. He's the one she knows without a doubt won't join her on the dance floor. She isn’t surprised when Livan gets up, holds out his hand. “Come on, _mami_.”

Livan is a great dancer, an even better partner off the field than on it. He’s also more of a gentleman than she initially believed. His hands rest on her waist and her hips but wander only when needed to spin or turn her, and he doesn’t check out other women while she’s in his arms. Between that dimpled smile and the way his shirt struggles to stretch over his broad chest, Ginny knows that most of the women in this club want to be her right now. She might be the only one here that doesn’t want him in her bed tonight. 

The damn music is still seeping into her brain, which she welcomes when the music is upbeat and the beat driving her to move. But then the next song is slow, sensual, and as he sometimes does, Livan pulls her close. Her eyes flutter shut, her cheek resting against his shoulder. 

She wouldn’t dance like this with Blip or Sonny, but with Livan it feels comfortable. Safe. Or maybe not, as she sees the telltale flash through her closed lids that means someone just snapped a photo of them. They sway in a loose circle, Ginny’s breathing slowing, until she feels the telltale prickle on the back of her neck.  

He's watching them. 

Ginny opens her eyes and looks over Livan’s shoulder. She lets herself stare at him just long enough to be sure he sees her. He pretends indifference, but she sees the tic in his jaw, the way he bolts down the rest of his beer while his eyes track every point of contact between her body and Livan’s. She sees him say something to Blip and maneuver his way out of the booth. He heads for the door without looking back. 

He doesn't need to. 

She finishes the dance, lets Livan find another eager partner while she returns to the table and gulps the rest of her drink, but it doesn't slake her thirst. She feels itchy in her own skin. The guys are talking but the conversation fades in and out around her.  

“I'm gonna head back to the hotel,” she tells Blip. The guys give her indulgent nods. None offers to go back to the hotel with her. 

The temptation is too much to ignore. She hasn’t touched him in 17 days aside from ass slaps and forearm bumps and the occasional one-armed man hug. Back at the hotel, she knocks on his door before she can talk herself out of it. He answers quickly, pulls her inside and closes the door behind her. Ginny slips her phone and room keycard onto the table by the door, kicks off her shoes.

There's no preamble, no talk. Just hands cupping her face, his eyes hot and dark in the moment before his mouth consumes hers. His solid body crowds her against the door, one leg wedged between hers. 

Their nights of soft, endless kisses are long past. Need crowds out much of the tenderness between them at first, until release takes the edge off the desperate want that crowds her thoughts every night without him. Right before they part is the worst, neither wanting to let go, kisses gone sweet and touches gentle. They haven’t actually fucked. Mike is endlessly inventive and their opportunities to be alone are so often brief. He keeps saying she deserves more than a quickie, she deserves to be worshipped all night. 

Ginny will take anything he gives, but she wants him inside her. She pulls up his shirt, hands sweeping over his stomach. He's solid under her hands, muscles rippling beneath her fingers. In the morning this will feel like a dream, the only evidence it was real his scent on her skin and the marks he likes to leave where no one else will see them. Right now it’s the world outside that feels like a dream, and Mike the only real thing in the world. His hot, wet mouth against her throat, his beard lightly abrading her skin, his body pressed against hers and his cock hard against her belly.

She wants to give herself over to this, completely turn off her mind and just feel. But that’s how she ended up with beard burn on her chin and her throat in Denver, and spent three days slathering herself in hydrocortisone cream and enduring ribbing from the guys about her supposed allergy to the hotel's laundry detergent. 

“Mike,” she says softly, tugging on his hair gently to get his attention. His name is enough. When they’re on the phone back in San Diego, she knows that saying his name is often enough to make him come. But they don’t risk it here. Once Sonny heard her moaning his name, she thinks Mike was going down on her at the time, and Mike had to tell them something because they wouldn’t stop pestering him. He didn’t make up the story about the woman he met on the elevator. He told them something that really happened, before they met. She knows he slept with a lot of women, knows they meant nothing to him, still doesn’t want to hear about it.   

He huffs a soft sigh against her throat, the heat against her wet skin making Ginny shiver, and pulls back long enough to sweep his hands up under her top. His calloused palms catch briefly on the flimsy shelf bra inside her top as he pulls it up over her head. His mouth is on her breast before the shirt hits the floor, one arm around her back and the other hand on her ass boosting her up into his arms. 

Mike likes to throw her around. He releases her breast to toss her into the middle of the bed. She stopped raising objections about his back when she realized it only made him manhandle her more, like he had something to prove. He pulls off his own shirt, unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down like they’ve personally offended him. His boxer-briefs stay on, though they do nothing to contain his erection. The tip protrudes from the waistband of his underwear, dark and wet.

Ginny wants nothing more than to crawl over to him and lick away that wetness, wrap her hand around his cock and guide it into her mouth. She misses the taste of him, the sound of his low, helpless moans as she takes him deep.

He stops her with one hand on her hip, a single clipped “no” in his gravelly voice. The skirt falls apart with a single tug on the tie at her waist, and he drags her nude cotton boyshorts down her legs surprisingly slowly, caressing every inch of her legs as he does it. Ginny can’t help the full-body shudder and low moan she makes as he drags her to the edge of the bed and pulls her legs up over his shoulders. She can smell herself, salty sweat and heady arousal, and his nostrils flare. 

Mike’s eyes are dark, intent on her, his lips and tongue on her thighs. Ginny is wet there, the slickness between her legs spread all over her inner thighs as he pulled off her panties. He licks it all away, slowly, his hands holding her still even as Ginny struggles to get closer to his mouth. His tongue is hot and wet, his lips soft, his beard rasping against her skin in a way that should irritate the delicate skin but the contrast is so good she writhes against his mouth, begging for more. The first time he did this, Ginny actually screamed when she came, a pillow hastily pressed over her mouth. 

The first swipe of his tongue up the length of her cunt makes her arch up off the bed before he can hold her down. He curls his tongue over her clit and flicks it twice as she cries out, then pulls back to blow over the wet flesh. Ginny grabs a pillow, shoves it under her hips, tosses another to the floor for his knees. 

Mike likes to watch. Her breasts heaving with each panting breath, the sweat beading on her chest. Her fingers plucking at her tight nipples when he’s teasing her and she’s desperate to come. Her face when he curls two fingers inside her, thrusting deep and hard while his mouth works magic on her clit. He reaches up and clamps a hand over her mouth just before she comes, muffling her cries. That shouldn’t be hot, but sometimes, like tonight, it just ramps her up again, a few firm licks over her clit sending her right back over the edge. 

Her eyes close, colors bursting behind her eyelids, aftershocks making her shudder, low moans escaping her panting mouth. Mike’s hand trails down her throat, her chest, fingertips grazing one nipple, dipping into her belly button, down her hip and along one thigh before carefully removing her trembling legs from his shoulders. 

He kisses her inner thigh softly, licks at the crease of her hip, sucks strongly at her skin. She doesn’t need to look to know he’s leaving a mark at the top of her mound. It will fade before he touches her again, but he does it every time. 

Ginny tangles one hand in his hair and tugs again. “C’mere,” she croaks, her throat dry and a little raw. 

Mike obeys slowly, wincing as he rises and prowls over her, taking her breast into his mouth again. 

She runs her hands up and down his back, tries to pull him down to cover her body, but Mike holds firm, the muscles in his arms bulging as he holds himself up. She growls, and he chuckles around her nipple, flicking it with his tongue. A little whine escapes her mouth. 

Mike relents and stretches up to kiss her, his beard still wet with her slickness. He groans as she nips his lower lip, wraps one hand around the back of his neck and pulls him closer. She thrusts her tongue into his mouth, not minding that he tastes of her, makes the kiss deep and dirty and distracting enough that he doesn’t notice what her other hand is doing until it’s wrapped around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, bucking into her grip. Mike doesn’t like this gentle, likes it fast and rough and talks all the way through, all the dirty things he wants to do to her, with her. She pulls his boxer-briefs down to get better access, and he somehow manages to get them off without removing her hand. When she pushes him back and takes him into her mouth he starts moaning incoherently. 

Ginny loves this, loves how his hand tangles in her hair but doesn’t force her down, lets her control every second. She loves the taste of him, the feel of him heavy against her tongue. She doesn’t even try to take all of him, he’s too big for that, though occasionally she can take him into her throat. That makes her voice a little hoarse the next day, makes it damned awkward for him in the clubhouse. It makes him hard, to hear her like that, to know why. 

When he finally closes his eyes, too close to coming to keep his eyes on her, Ginny lets him go abruptly, pushes him to the bed and straddles his body until his cock is trapped between his belly and her wet cunt. She slides over him as she leans over to kiss him. It’s barely a kiss, her tongue in his mouth, sucking the breath right out of him, his hands scrabbling at her hips. 

“Baker,” he grunts, trying to hold her still and failing. He can’t hold her tightly enough without hurting her, and he won’t do that. 

“Fuck me,” she whispers, tilting her hips just so, the head of his cock dragging over her clit and then notching against her opening. She can feel him pulsing against her cunt. His breathing is so fast he must be dizzy. She is. 

“We can’t.” His voice isn’t nearly firm enough, he’s shaking all over and his hands are loosening. 

She doesn’t bother asking if he has a condom. He doesn’t. To avoid this. For some reason Mike seems to think that fucking her will make this somehow more real, more damaging to both of them. She’s been lost since that first night in Peoria. All that this will do is ease the emptiness, fill her up like she’s dreamed of so often she can barely believe Mike has never been inside her.

“We’re both clean,” she reminds him. “I have an IUD,” she adds, pulling his lower lip into her mouth and suckling it. She releases him, lets his heavy breaths wash over her mouth, and drags her mouth across his cheek, to his ear. “Mike.” She kisses his ear and rocks her hips back, dragging the head of his cock through her wetness again. “Lawson.” 

He groans, and his hips buck up sharply, his cock bumping her clit. 

She bites his earlobe and he whispers helplessly, “Ginny. Rookie. Please.”

She smiles, relief washing over her as she rocks over him again. She doesn’t even need to use her hands. His cock fits right where she wants it, and this time she pushes down and back, letting the head slide just inside her. She gasps at the feel, savoring the delicious stretch of him. “Fuck me,” she moans. “I can’t wait anymore.”

And Mike thrusts up hard, spearing her on his cock, bottoming out. 

She cries out, her back arching as her clit grinds against his pubic bone. Ginny comes apart instantly, full, shuddering and pulsing all around him, vision whiting out as her hands clutch his biceps. 

He flips them over, his weight pressing her into the mattress, and drags one of her legs high up to hook around his back. He slides impossibly deeper, and Ginny gasps. His eyes lock on hers, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back.

“I’m okay,” she babbles, nodding, clawing at his back, trying to make him move. 

And then he does, and Ginny loses her mind all over again. Her skin is on fire, she feels fuller than she can ever remember, and she can’t stop touching him, can’t stop kissing any bit of him she can reach. Her mouth is full of his taste, bitter and salty and alive. The only sounds in the room are his groans and husky praise, the slap of his hips against her thighs, the wet friction of his cock sliding in and out of her. It’s so loud it’s obscene and it’s perfect. She meets him as he moves from long, slow thrusts to rocking with a slow grind against her clit, watching her face the whole time. 

She has to look away, can’t take the intensity in his eyes or the low, breathless tone of his voice when he tells her how good she feels, how perfect she is. He’s perfect for her, she whispers but isn’t sure if he even hears her. She loves the rasp of his beard against her skin, the strength of his hands, the weight of his body on hers, the sweet throbbing fullness of him inside her. 

She loses track of time, the only measure the sweet push and pull of his thrusts. He switches to hard, sharp snaps of his hips, each stroke deep and fast, and with his hand kneading her ass to adjust the angle, he starts hitting somewhere deep inside that makes her whimper. It’s almost painful, and then the pain loses its edge, and she’s flying again, coming so hard she cries out.

Mike drops against her chest and takes her mouth, swallowing her sounds, sucking on her tongue and grinding against her again while his hips lose their driving rhythm. His hand scrabbles for hers, fingers interlinked, bodies slicked together with sweat, his eyes so dark, so near. 

She’s never been this close, never watched a man come apart only inches away. Mike’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes go wide, like this sudden all-consuming pleasure is a surprise. His mouth drops open, a deep breath filling his lungs and pressing his chest even tighter against her. He thrusts straight through his orgasm, out of sync and desperate, a strangled groan escaping him.  

When he’s done, Mike keeps thrusting, lazily, shallowly as he softens. There will be a wet spot. A big wet spot. She doesn’t care. The look on his face is worth it, the way his eyes soften, the way he brushes kisses across her cheeks, her nose, and finally her mouth. He’s fierce and beautiful and happy, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth under that forbidding beard.

Ginny smiles back at him. She loves Mike, every part of him. Well beyond reason, obviously. 

And she sees the moment he comes back to himself, the weight of who they are and what they’ve done settling on his broad shoulders again. The smile slips off his face. He sighs, and she knows she will hate whatever comes out of his mouth next. “We can’t do that again.” His eyes won’t meet hers, and she can hear the self-loathing in his voice.

“Why?” Her chin juts, and she wraps her calf around his leg when he tries to pull away. He slips out of her, and she’s a mess, but she’s not letting him go.

Mike doesn’t answer at first, his jaw working like he’s chewing up the words. Finally he looks at her. “Because if we do this, you’re mine. And I can get away with being protective of my pitcher, but I can’t be possessive. Someone will notice.”

“I’m already yours,” she snaps, frustrated and hating that they’re lying here naked fighting about this instead of enjoying the afterglow. “You think I let just any guy fuck me bare?” She won’t tell him that she’s never done that before, not now.

Mike rolls off her, his hand scrubbing over his face, wincing as he notices just how sticky his beard is. “No, I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” Ginny reaches down and grabs the sheet, feeling far too vulnerable naked and exposed with his come drying on her thighs. 

Mike doesn’t say a word, just lays there staring up at the ceiling. 

She can’t take the silence. “So it’s okay if I blow you, but not if we’re fucking?” His logic makes no damn sense to her, it never did, but for awhile she was content to move slowly. She didn’t date like other girls did in high school, she never had that slow, fumbling teenage courtship, enjoying every step between a first kiss and falling into bed. Not that Mike fumbles with anything to do with her body. He’s good with his hands, better with his mouth, and damn him, the best she’s ever had when his cock is inside her. 

He grumbles low under his breath. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m your captain, I could lose my job over this.”

She laughs bitterly. Like she hasn’t thought about that. Like anyone would think she was his victim. “Are you kidding? You’d announce your retirement, finish out the season. Me? I’d be out on my ass before I could blink.”

“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he insists, still not looking at her.

Ginny turns onto her side to look at him more easily. And to get away from the cold spot under her ass. “You wouldn’t have a choice. You’d still make it to Cooperstown, and I’d be asking ‘Do you want fries with that?’ back in Tarboro. But I’m willing to risk it. Aren’t you?” She really hates how her voice breaks at the end there, but it’s out there. 

If anyone had told her six years ago that she would risk the majors, risk the thousands of hours she’s worked, all the things she gave up growing up, for the man on her bedroom wall, she would have laughed. Sometimes she thinks she’s crazy, that no man is worth throwing away her career. Mike Lawson, of all people. Driven and passionate and broken in ways he won’t even admit, but so damn loyal. So damn loving, even if he won’t say the words. 

But if her injury taught her one thing, it’s that this game won’t last forever. Al told her she couldn’t make the game her life. Mike understands that perhaps better than anyone. 

He turns his head to look at her, and she hopes he isn’t about to disappoint her the way he did the day they met, with his ass slap and his midget comment. “Gin.” Her name is soft in his mouth. Precious. “I don’t want to ruin you.”

Her stomach clenches. She might just be sick. “You aren’t ruining me. I started this. I damn near forced myself on you.”

He chuckles at that. “You think I couldn’t stop you? Come on.”

“You can’t stop yourself,” she tosses back at him, and knows immediately that it’s true. 

His lips press together in a hard line. This isn’t an excuse, he really does think he’s dirtying her somehow. “No, I can’t.”

Ginny scrambles up to straddle him. “Then don’t.” 

Mike stiffens beneath her, uncertainty in his eyes.

“You want to run again? I ran to Noah. You ran to Rachel. We still ended up here.”

“You deserve better.” 

“And you deserve what? Groupies and a cheating wife?” She won't sugarcoat this. Either he's in or he's not, there's too much at stake for both of them. “I want you. What do you want?”

He's quiet so long that only his fingers skimming up and down her thigh keep her from fleeing the room. Finally he lifts his hand from her skin just long enough to reach up and take her hand. He tugs her down to him, and relief swamps Ginny just as his soft, lingering kiss connects them again. “I want you.” 

And then Mike rolls them over again and shows her just how much. 

  
  



End file.
